Against the Dying of the Light
by Millikov
Summary: Written for a Competition--"Write the Prologue to the Continuation of The Lord of the Rings". This is my attempt. Feedback and Constructive Criticism appreciated. -Complete-
1. The Passing of Evenstar

Disclaimer: Tolkien's. Not mine.   
  
_This was originally meant to be read as one whole story, but here I have divided it into several chapters to make it more reader-friendly._  


**The Title of the Competition was: Write the Beginning to the Continuation of The Lord of the Rings.**

  
  


Against the Dying of the Light

Arwen Undómiel, Evenstar of her people, entered the now-deserted realm of Lórien, and into what remained of Caras Galadhron, her fingertips brushing against the smooth grey bark of the great _Mellyrn_-trees, waiting 'ere the day her doom approached, though it was not with dread that she waited. For this was the Arwen Evenstar who met and loved Aragorn son of Arathorn, who called her Tinúviel when he chanced upon her, and she thus chose the doom of Men, forsaking immortality, that she might dwell in bliss with him 'til the End of his days.

The End of his days, but not hers.

For in taking the gift of Mortality that Eru had bestowed upon Men, it was not Arwen's lot to die until all she had gained was taken from her. She trod lightly upon the grey soil, feeling the burden of age upon her, clad not in the elaborate gowns she wore as a Queen in Minas Tirith, but in the simple white raiment of an elf-maiden, wandering 'til the days turned to dusk and finally to night, when the stars sparkled against the bleakness of dark, waiting, waiting.

Occasionally Arwen would come across a simple object, a treasure left behind by the Silvan Elves when they departed to the Blessed Realm. A coil of _hithlain, an arrow of the Galadhrim, a silver brooch of Lórien, a scrap of elven cloth. Then she would smile, remembering the days of old when she would journey so oft to the Golden Woods, to visit her mother's Kin, Celeborn and Galadriel, Lord and Lady of the Lothlórien.  But memories were but memories, this the lady knew, and the smile would fade from her lips, and she would stand alone in sorrow among the mallorn-trees with their leaves of gold, cold and distant. Then at last her time was nigh, and death stole up upon her like a shadow, but she was ready for what was to come._

It was then that Arwen Evenstar laid herself to rest upon Cerin Amroth, the place where Elessar and the Undómiel plighted their troth and it was there that she had chose her fate. And the same way the light in her grey eyes was quenched at the death of the King Aragorn, the spark of life in her now flickered and died, and she lay there, the Evening Star cold and dim, yet still radiant, full of beauty and wisdom, as her spirit faded 'til it vanished utterly from the World, the same way Lúthien Tinúviel did. And those who would behold her might gasp in awe, for she indeed was as fair of face as Lúthien herself, and it was not without reason that Aragorn Elessar had thought her so the day he first beheld her.  

But there were none now who would be able to look upon her, for they were all gone, the Elves of Lórien, to Valinor, the Ream of the Valar, the Lands Beyond the Great Sea, and the Evening Star was left to shine utterly alone, even when its light died.

Such was the Passing of the Evenstar.


	2. Deor the Valiant

Captain Bergil of Gondor hurried down the passage, nodded briskly to the guards standing on either side of the door, who opened the doors to the into the Great Hall, that he might enter. There he strode forward toward where the newly crowned King sat on his High Throne, and bowed in greeting.

"Arise, Captain Bergil," the King replied, dark haired and fair of face, firm and noble, the blood of both mortal and immortal reflected in his face. "what news of great urgency is there that you would hasten to my Hall?"

"Orcs, my lord Eldarion. Scouts have seen a party of them heading toward Osgiliath at dusk. They have encamped at our borders, and have yet to enter into our lands. I have given orders that the scouts stand vigilant and keep a wary eye upon the Orcs, but even so, my mind is not put to rest, for the party of men are few in numbers, no more then ten could I spare to watch the creatures."

"A ploy, maybe?" Eldarion mused. "what say you, Captain Bergil?"

"Orcs are not to be trusted, my lord," the Captain replied immediately. "And I would not trust one even if he laid his arms at my feet and begged pardon."

"Creatures of Morgoth, and of Sauron his servant," murmured the King. "if it were any other save those of Morgoth I would think differently, but my mind misgives me, and I too would not dismiss the matter. Tell me Captain," he continued. "how long ago was it since I last rode out?"

"A fortnight and odd days, my Lord," was the man's reply. "not since…not since King Elessar's passing."

"Then saddle my horse, Captain Bergil. I will ride and meet these creatures. It has been far too long since I ventured out of Minas Tirith."

"My lord, our warriors are perfectly capable—"

"I know they are, Captain. I do not doubt their skill," Eldarion cut him off. "nonetheless, I will ride."

"Yes Lord," replied Bergil. "with the Kings consent, I will take my leave, that I may ready the horses."

"Go, friend," The King said, and the Captain of Gondor bowed and turned to depart from the Hall. 

"And Bergil," Eldarion called to the man. "hoist the dark flag beside that of Gondors. My dearest mother Arwen's spirit has departed to the Halls of Mandos."

Bergil nodded acknowledgement, and as he strode out of the Great Hall, understanding of Eldarion's earlier command to ride out dawned upon his aging face. For the King's voice had been strained, and not once was there a trace of gladness in his eyes. 

"So it has happened then," sighed Nindëwen, lastborn of Elessar and Arwen, and even before she saw the dark flag being raised next to the standard of Gondor, lit dimly by torches round the first gate, she knew that what she had dreaded had indeed come to pass. "mother is gone. You knew also, didn't you sister? Eldarion did too, 'tis the Elven second sight."

"Yes I did," replied her older sister, stepping forward to embrace her. "come dearest, weep not."

"What of our brother?" 

"He has gone riding. Some business with Orcs near Osgiliath."

"That is good Cenire," Nindëwen said. "riding always lifts his spirits. But…ai, first father, now mother…"

And the two women clung to each other, that they might find comfort in the others arms, weeping. 

Thus the Company of men set forth passing through the seventh gate of Minas Tirith, King Eldarion on Eohfæst his steed, Captain Bergil riding beside him, and twenty five warriors on foot. And as Eldarion commanded, swiftly they journeyed on, stopping to rest but little, for the soldiers of Gondor were hardy and loved their King, and they followed his commands with nary an ill word passed between them. Onward they marched, the standard of the house of Telecontar flying proudly in the wind. Stern and solemn was Bergil, even as the wind tousled his white hair. But Eldarion's was a mixture of sorrow and mirth, for his heart rejoiced as he roamed the vast plains of Gondor, yet evermore did he mourn the death of the Evenstar, for he had loved her as dearly as any child could love his mother. 

"My liege!" came the frantic voice of one as they neared Osgiliath. Eldarion turned to see a lone warrior, who stumbled forward, then fell, bloodied and wounded.

"It is a soldier of Gondor." Murmured Bergil, before turning to the warriors. "somebody help him, for pity's sake!" 

But Eldarion had already dismounted and walked over to the soldier. Then he stooped down and helped him up, that he might lean against Eldarion's shoulder for support. The warrior was no more than a lad who had just begun to mature into manhood. 

"No, good sir, I cannot walk, I fear that I am too weary." Whispered the soldier, much too worn out to fully realize that it was the King who bore him. 

The King knelt on the grass and leaned the boy against him. 

"What is your name?" he asked, his voice grave and gentle. 

"Deor, sir," answered the lad weakly.

"What happened Deor?"

"We were overwhelmed," replied he. "There were but ten of us, we were few, and they were many. Still we might have…might have won, had more orcs not arrived." 

"Bravely did you fight, you and your Companions," Eldarion said.

"It is you Lord!" the boy's blue eyes widened, when he recognized that it was the Kings face looking down upon him, and that it was the King's arms that supported him. "Ai, truly my King…I am sorry, I did not know…"

"You have done naught to incur the King's wrath, nay, Deor the Valiant I name you. " Eldarion smiled slightly, and he bore the youngster up and carried him toward where the rest of his men were. There some gently took the body of Deor and poured water into his lips, and tended to him as best as they could.

"Noble indeed is our King," Bergil commented, and his gaze was approving.

"I did what I could friend," Eldarion replied, mounting Eohfæst. 

"What now sire? Do we head back that we may bring the lad to the Houses of Healing, or shall we continue forward and face the orcs?"

"Had we more horses to saddle all the men, we would be able to dispatch a rider to bear the boy back." Eldarion sighed. "But we do not. Yet if we turn back, the orcs will venture forward to Osgiliath, and I fear that they will harm those in the nearby villages. We must ride forward, Bergil, and make haste."

It was at dawn that they spotted a group of orcs fleeing east, for they had both shunned light and realized that they were being pursued. Then Eldarion unsheathed his sword Andúril that his father Aragorn passed down to him, and it gleamed a bright white against the dark night.

"Creatures of Morgoth!" The King's voice rang clear and stern over the plain. "Whither do you run, fleeing like cowards as the light dawns? Will you not take your stand and fight? Or will you only fight battles that you can win, seeking only to cause misery and pain? I say to you now, no more grief will you cause, and today you perish at the hands of those whom you seek to hurt!"

And at that the orcs gave a great cry of dismay, for while the King issued his challenge, his men and quietly surrounded them, and they had no chance of escape.

"Scum of men!" yelled an orc, hurtling his orc-knife toward Eldarion. But the King quickly deflected the blow with his sword.

"For Gondor and the Undómiel!" he shouted, urging his horse on. And the warriors, seeing their King charge, raised their weapons, and ran forward to meet their foes, hurtling themselves upon them.

The arms clashed as the two parties fought fiercely against the other, showing but little mercy, for the orcs had no purpose other than to kill, and the men of Gondor had seen to many atrocities committed at the hands of orcs to feel even pity for the wretched creatures.  And soon the night was filled with the shrieks and yells of the fighting and the dying and the wounded. Eldarion rained blows left and right upon his foes, as Eohfæst galloped through the orcs. And together the soldiers felled the creatures, leaving none alive.

When Captain Bergil thrust his sword into the last orc, thus slaying it, the skirmish was over, and the men rejoiced at their victory, small as it was. 

"Valiantly did you fight, soldiers of Gondor!" shouted the Captain, his sword shining a dark red with orc-blood. "And now we march back to Minas Tirith for some well-deserved rest."

"Bergil," said the King, riding up to his trusted Captain, the limp body of Deor with him on his horse. "I will leave you to lead them back to the City. The lad's strength is failing him, and I must get him to the Houses of Healing as soon as possible."

"As you wish lord," Bergil bowed his head. "ride speedily, for I do not wish to see yet another fall at the hands of orcs.'

"Neither do I, Bergil." Replied Eldarion grimly. Eohfæst, sensing his master's urgency, lifted his head proudly and sped over the plains, swift and tireless, as the sun rose and a new day approached.

"Tell me, my good woman, will he live?" Eldarion asked Cwenhoh, a Healer in the Houses, who had approached the boys bed with linen bandages and a basin of hot water and tended to him. But the dame did not respond, instead she bit her lip, and her hands hook has she bandaged the gash on Deors chest. When her work was done she stood abruptly, tears in her eyes.

"I am sorry, my liege," she choked and rushed out of the room, leaving Eldarion standing there startled.

"Curse your ignorance, brother." Cenire appeared at the doorway. "The boy is her son, and her only child."

"Ai, truly sister, I did not know. I was merely concerned for the boy, but verily do I regret my words."

"Do not worry, my brother," the lady's voice was gentle and caring, as she came and took her brother's hands in her slender ones. "for you have done what you could for Deor, and must trust the skills of the Healers. For there is naught else you can do for him, save for hoping.

"Come, there is spiced wine and food waiting to be consumed. You have not eaten since you set out last night, and it is already noon."

It was two days later that Deor's struggle with death ended, and his torment was over. They buried him just outside Minas Tirith, in a field where the flowers bloomed evermore and the grass grew lush and green, where he would always be remembered and loved as young Deor the Valiant.


	3. I Elda ar Nauko

**_I Elda ar Nauko: The Elf and Dwarf_**                

The morning was bright and clear around them as Legolas and Gimli walked through the flourishing forests of Eryn Lasgalen, the sun peeking through the vast trees and bathing everything in the gentle light of gold.

"I like not the forests," Gimli commented to his friend. "and I would rather stay in the caves of your father rather than stroll aimlessly through the woods."

"And I, Gimli my friend," replied the Elf, "would rather stroll through forests than sit restlessly in caves. For there was once a time that these forests transformed from Greenwood the Great to Mirkwood of the shadows, and it was then that my people sang no more, 'til Sauron the Maia was defeated and the splendor of these woods restored."

"But your people are gone. And your father." Gimli noted. "The Silvan elves who dwelt here have left for the Blessed Realm, along with all the _Eldar_ of Middle-earth, save for you."

His eyes met that of his Companions.

"Legolas," Said the dwarf. "Long have we waited, yet there is no news from the Lady Galadriel as to whether to Valar would grant me the honor of stepping upon the shores of Valinor. Your grey ship lies idle, anchored at Ithilien, and you long to be among your kind once again. Will you not go? For though I long to accompany you to Valinor that I might behold the beauty of Galadriel once more, there is no guarantee that I will be granted the grace of venturing into the Blessed Realm."

"I will wait with you Gimli," replied Legolas, placing a hand of the dwarf's shoulder. "'til word arrives. And if indeed it is your fate to dwell in Middle-earth, then I will accompany you here, until your days draw to an end. For never have I shared such close a bond of friendship with any, be it mortal or immortal."

"Neither have I, friend," Gimli smiled.

"That is good to hear. But lo! A rider approaches," the Elf said quietly.

"Who is it?"

"An elf." 

"A messenger from Valinor!"  Gimli cried hopefully, as the two waited ere the rider approached.

"_Suilannad, Legolas iôn uin Thranduil," said the elf, as he dismounted. "And greetings, Gimli son of Glóin."_

"It has been too long since we last met, Galdor." Answered Legolas. "How fares my father in Aman?"

"Your father is well," said Galdor. "though he wishes for his son to join him. I bring news from Valinor, from the Lady Galadriel."

"What does she say?" came the eager voice of Gimli.

"So says the lady to Gimli: 'It is thus the judgement of the Valar that you are granted the grace to venture into Valinor, where you may dwell in contentment and happiness. May their blessings go with you, as do mine, Lockbearer!' "

"Great indeed is the Lady of Light!" rejoiced Gimli, and his heart, as well as Legolas', was gladdened, for at last the elf could follow his desire to sail over the seas to the West."

"Glad though the Lady may be at your coming," continued Galdor. "but her mind was uneasy when she took counsel with the Lords of the West. For the cares and troubles of the World have made them grow weary. But I cannot stay and discuss matters with you, for I must return to Valinor. _Namárië_!"

The Elf swung himself up upon his elf-horse and it galloped away through the forests, past the trees and following the river until the Elf-rider was out of sight and the sound of hooves could no longer be heard.

"The end of days," muttered Legolas, his brow furrowed with concern. "and the dying of the light."

"What do you speak of, Legolas?"

"Tales long forgotten," Legolas replied, his fair face troubled. "But come! We must say our goodbyes and head to Ithilien, where our ship awaits us!"

"Though glad I may be to go to Aman, I am not so eager to sail over water, for I do not like the sea." Gimli groaned. 

Thus it was that the dwarf and the elf approached the great gate of Minas Tirith on horseback, cloaked and hooded, Gimli riding behind Legolas on the Elf's mount.

"If you are friend, sire, give me your name and the password and I will let you pass." Said the guard who stood forth to block their path.

"Friend I am, good sir, yet I do not know the password." Came Legolas' clear voice. "but my name I will gladly give you."

And as he said that, the elf drew himself up and threw back his hood. 

"For I am Legolas from the Wood of the Greenleaves, and this is my dearest companion Gimli the Dwarf. We are friends of Eldarion your King, as we were of his father."

Upon hearing those words the guard stepped aside hurriedly, and whispered orders were given to allow the two to pass through all the seven gates of the City and be brought to the King.  

The two Companions were brought before the King Eldarion in the Great Hall, who greeted them warmly, for they were as much his Fathers friends as they were his, although he had not the close bond of companionship with Legolas and Gimli that the three Hunters shared together in friendship. His was a friendship mingled with respect and even awe, for he had, as a child, heard of the valour they displayed whilst fighting alongside Gondor and Rohan during the War of the Ring, and of the bravery of the Fellowship. These tales were told in songs oft sung by Court-minstrels, and it was no wonder that Eldarion held them in high-esteem, for they indeed lived up to the lays and ballads sang about them.

"I greet you as neither Lord nor King but as a friend, Legolas Greenleaf and Gimli Glóin's son, for much friendship have you shown towards my father and I," said the King, who arose from his throne and walked down the steps to receive them. "come, noble warriors, what business brings you here?"

"Farewells, Master Eldarion," replied Gimli. "for through the intervention of the Lady Galadriel, I have been granted permission by the Valar to enter Valinor."

"And you will leave so soon?"

"Yes, Eldarion," Legolas said. "for the two of us long to enter the Blessed Realm."

"So." Said Eldarion, and in his voice bore a strange note of finality. "it has happened at last. The end of the Fellowship."

"It has to come, be it sooner or later," Legolas answered. "the end of all things."

And for a brief moment, Eldarion imagined that he saw a flicker of worry and sadness in the elf's eyes, but that moment passed, and standing before him, Legolas's gaze was calm. 

"Will you depart so soon? Will you not tarry a while in Middle-earth? For I have looked upon the sky and saw clouds as black as night, some hovering in the air over Minas Tirith, some passing and heading west."

"Even so, it might rain before those clouds reach the sea, Eldarion," Legolas smiled.

"Worry not for our well-being," Gimli said. "for the times of trouble have long since passed. And it is our desire to head to Valinor as soon as we can. Fare thee well, Eldarion, and the span of your days be long and joyous!"

"_Namárië!" said Legolas. "__ Namárië, brave Eldarion, son of Elessar, elf-friend and King!"_

A long while after Legolas and Gimli and departed from Minas Tirith, Eldarion stood atop the White Tower in solitude and gazed upon the open plains of Gondor and the lands beyond his realm, and it was there that Cenire and Nindëwen found him. And they stood on the tower in kinship, and knew that with the passing last of the Fellowship, the last lingering memories left behind from the Third Age of Gondor would soon be lost forever, that what remained of their father's legacy would soon be no more than a tale, one of great nobility and valour, but still a tale. Thus it would be with the disappearance of the last traces from the Third Age, it would truly be the Fourth Age of Middle-earth. But the thought of it brought them no joy or gladness, but a strange regret that even after the end of an Age so wondrous, it would soon have to be engulfed by time and forgotten at last.  __

"I wonder if Treebeard and the Ents will find the Entwives," Legolas mused, as the ship glided over the waters of the sea. Already they had lost sight of the Gulf of Lune, and had been sailing several hours on open sea. "'Tis a pity, Gimli. If you had not been so adamant in your refusal to venture into Fangorn again, I would have liked to walk one last time into those woods."

But Gimli did not reply, his head was bowed over the edge of the ship as he gripped its wooden sides. When at last his seasickness had tided over, he walked over to where the elf steered.

"As I have stated before, Master Legolas, I am not fond of the forests," said he.

"Nor the seas," Legolas added.

"Nor the seas." Gimli agreed. "the waters have been growing increasingly choppy, the dark cloud creep over the skies, and my mind is uneasy, I fear that a storm might come."

"Why do you fear the storm? Do you not trust my skill with a boat?" Jested the elf.

"A bow yes, but not a boat. For there are storms that even the greatest of mariners, be he a mortal or an elf, cannot handle."

"Then let us hope that if a storm does come, it will not be one such storm."

*_Eldar--Elves_

*_Suilannad, Legolas iôn uin Thranduil—Greetings, Legolas son of Thranduil___

_* Namárië--_Farewell


	4. If Darkness Should Overwhelm

**If Darkness Should Overwhelm**

There in Valinor, Galadriel's mind was troubled, and her brows were knitted as she sat deep in thought, pondering upon such matters that seemed so unlikely to happen. Yet Galadriel in her wisdom knew that those tales that mortals scoffed, the Wise would remember, for she had dwelt for a great span of years in Middle-earth, for it was in the First Age before Valinor was concealed that she had entered the World. And she had seen and learnt much, enough to know that no tale of old, and no piece of ancient lore was too ludicrous to be untrue. As a chill wind blew, she glanced up at the night sky, toward where Eärendil the Mariner who wore a Silmaril upon his brow sailed the starless vast in his white ship Wingelot, a solitary star glimmering against the night.

"Guard Him well, Eärendil." She whispered. "Guard Him well."

Nindëwen, standing beside the King's throne, glanced anxiously at Eldarion, and nary a word in the Great Hall as rain pelted down from the heavens, the steady beat of water pounding against stone filling their ears. Cenire stood on his left, her dark hair falling across her face as she bowed her head, listening silently as a clap of thunder erupted in the sky.

"The storm may not have reached the seas yet," said Nindëwen.

Eldarion shifted in his seat. "Nay, sister," replied the man tensely. "For I saw a great many clouds, thick and black, heading west at a great speed but a week ago."

"Yet they may not have reached the seas," Nindëwen insisted. "and I am sure that Legolas is a competent enough navigator to get both himself and Gimli safely to the shores of Valinor."

But even as she said this, the lady's eyes met that of her sisters, worry and dread was writ in Cenire's grey eyes, and apprehension crept into Nindëwen's heart. Apprehension and fear.

"Legolas!" roared Gimli as a wave swept over the boat, rain and seawater pouring down upon them, and he staggered toward the mast and clutched it for support. 

"Legolas!" he shouted once more to the elf, who stood at the helm so desperately to master the storm, as the boat cut through the raging waves. But the roar of the rain all but drowned out Gimli's voice, and the wind shrieked and carried Gimli's shouts away. The sky was black, and no light shone as the night wore on and fierce chill filled the air. Jagged lightning flashed against the darkness, illuminating it briefly, and thunder rolled across the sky. There was no sound louder than it, save for the frantic pounding of Gimli's heart that drowned out all else. Another wave washed over the dwarf as he clutched the tall pole, his numbed fingers loosing their grip. Gimli closed his eyes as he clung on to the mast, clung on to life, clung on to hope. He could feel his strength failing him, too cold and merciless were the waters, too cruel was the storm. But still he clung on.

And the wave buffeted against him but did not defeat him. Gimli opened his eyes and wiped the salty water from them, sputtering, and he ran, sometimes stumbling, as the waters filled the boat, 'til he reached the wooden steps and scrambled up to where Legolas was.

"As I have said, Master Legolas," Gimli said. "I do not like the sea!"

"Gimli!" yelled the Elf, greatly relieved, but his voice was barely a whisper against the howling winds. "Bail, Gimli, bail out the water!"

The dwarf nodded and grabbed a bucket, and frantically began emptying the water back into the sea, hurtling water back into the waters. 

"'Tis futile, Legolas, we will never make it to Valinor!" he shouted.

"Do or do not, we must try, friend! We cannot turn back!" was Legolas's reply.

But his friend's voice sounded so distant, his body shrouded by rain and mist. Gimli peered ahead through half-opened eyes, and saw no path ahead, no ocean, only dark, darkness, and the bleak starless of night and shrouded clouds. The dwarf felt weary, so very weary and cold, fatigued and worn out, and he shivered as his eyes began to close.

Then suddenly the dwarf was wide-awake as the felt the ship tremble as the brutal waves buffeted its side. His head whipped to face Legolas, and the two paused in horror, as slowly, slowly, the ship began to tip to the side.

"Brace," Legolas's voice was faint, but all ready Gimli had crawled to the right side of the vessel, and the elf joined him as they made their last attempt to keep the ship afloat, futile as it was, pouring every last ounce of strength into this one effort, sea-water and rain and sweat and tears mingling together. But with a cruel viciousness, the waters came crashing against the boat and with a groan it toppled to its side, shuddering as it hit the waters.

"Gimli!" came Legolas's anguished cry as the dwarf lost his grip and slid down. "Gimli! Take my hand!"

But it was too late, the dwarf did not hear his companion's screams, and Gimli felt himself being hurtled, down, down an endless vortex, down the abyss, downwards into darkness and despair and a great sense of hopelessness was within him as he plunged downwards into the depths of the murky, churning waters of the Great Sea.

And Eldarion in his bed suddenly awoke from slumber, cold sweat upon his brow; his eyes wide open with terror.

"Ai, Elbereth Gilthoniel," he whispered in sorrow and dread, for the foresight of his both his father and mother's kindred had come upon him. "No…"


	5. Against the Dying of the Light

**Against the Dying of the Light**  
  
  
But what would happen, would happen, for Eldarion had not the power to will it to take place otherwise. Legolas struggled to stay afloat against the fierce waves and he grabbed on to a piece of wood from the broken remains of his grey ship, straining his eyes against the thick and gloomy veil of rain, seeking to find his friend.   
  
"Ulmo!" came his desperate voice. "Ulmo of the Valar, Lord of the Waters! Have you grown so weary as to abandon the Eldar whom you love?"   
  
"Legolas…" the elf heard a faint call. Looking wildly around, his eyes spotted the small, yet stout, and unmistakable frame of Gimli, borne by the seas, half-drowned.   
  
"Gimli!" gasped the elf, and he kicked against the water frantically, trying to reach his beloved companion. "Gimli, grab my hand!"   
  
And as their gaze met, Legolas was filled with a strange, bittersweet calmness and resignation, and an overwhelming love for his Companion; such was the depth of their friendship.   
  
"Gimli." He looked straight at the dwarf, valiant warrior, truest companion, dearest friend. And the dwarf reached over against the winds and the rain, and grasped the elf's hand. Gimli and Legolas, the dwarf and the elf. "If this be the end of our tale, my friend, then let us end it together."   
  
Gimli nodded. "Thus does the story of Legolas and Gimli come to a close." And a slight smile of sorrow was upon his face, grief and sadness mingling with a melancholic joy, as lightning flashed and waters crashed against the winds, rain and sea-foam blurring together, air clashing with water in a union both majestic and terrifying, and the storm raged on, rain pouring down upon the sea, waters rising in menacing pillars 'til foam-capped waves swept up and engulfed them.   
  
Legolas closed his eyes and a smile played upon his lips, and he felt Gimli's hand in his, he held onto it tightly, in the inseparable bond of love and friendship. Let life out, and let death in. Let light out and let dark in. He would meet it; he would meet it together with Gimli.   
  
Gimli's eyes were open; he would face Death, bold and unafraid, defiant and noble, with the courage of the Dwarves, and Legolas with him always. Even so, a tear slipped out from the corner of his eye, a single tear that was lost in the waters, never noticed. But Gimli did not flinch, did not blink. He smiled. He would face Death, bold and unafraid.   
  
Just as the torrents swallowed the two and the currents pulled them under into the black unknown, Gimli looked up towards the skies and saw a brief glimmer, a spark of blinding light peeking out through the gloom of dark.   
  
And the light was beautiful.   
  
  
_Thus with the Passing of Legolas and Gimli, in the Fourth Age of Gondor in the year 120, an end had come in Middle-earth of the Fellowship of the Ring, and the beginning of the Reign of King Eldarion._   
  


* * *

_  
Inspired by: The Prophecy of Mandos as told in The Shaping of Middle-earth and The Appendices of The Lord of the Rings.   
  
Thank you—   
  
To the few who have been there throughout the course of this, short as it was, who cheered me on, who let me moan, who read it through, who cared enough to stick their necks out for me. I love you all, and you know that.   
  
To all who reviewed, truly, I am most undeserving.   
  
And to Messr J.R.R Tolkien: For sharing Middle-earth with the world. It is timeless, and the road goes ever on and on. What a journey it has been.   
-Millikov _


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